"Ten minutes yet; I don't see the tug," said Marston. "Shall I help you out on deck when she comes?"
Wyndham smiled and answered with the deliberation he was forced to use: "There wouldn't be much use in that, Bob. I heard them fixing the big gangway lights."
Marston knew he was thinking about Flora and the shock she must get. It was going to be hard for Flora; in fact, it was hard for both.
"She knows," he said quietly. "I was frank with Mabel and told her all before the doctor would let you write."
"Thanks! Flora has pluck, but the pluck that hides a hurt does not cure it."
"It goes some way," said Marston. "When Flora sees you, I don't think she will see the scar."
Then one or two of the passengers came in, and they waited until the engines stopped and they heard the tug's paddles. Wyndham got on his feet awkwardly and waved back Marston, who had meant to give him his arm. His face was very pinched, but his eyes were bright, and as they went out he forced a smile.
A big electric lamp hung from the spar-deck and threw down a searching light. The tug's gangway was run out and people began to come on board. Marston saw Mabel and his heart beat with mixed emotions as he noted her black dress, for a cablegram had told him Mrs. Hilliard was dead. He was unselfishly sorry for Mabel, but she had met the last claim of duty and he had waited long.
Then Flora stepped down from the gangway and went straight across the deck to Wyndham, who stood under the lamp. The strong light touched their faces and Marston imagined the corners of Flora's mouth twitched. This was all; her step was swift and eager and her eyes shone with tender welcome. She was very brave. Marston saw no pity in her look; there was nothing but gladness and love.
"My dear!" she cried, and Wyndham took her in his feeble arms.